The horses are weathering our first big snow quite happily. I have fewer aches and pains because my husband is home for this strenuous event. Last year, he serendipitously missed every major storm because he was on the road, working. This time, I had to go into the city on the day it really dumped, and he had to do all the heavy shoveling and hauling on his own. He was so glad to see me when I got home. I think he had a revelation about what I had actually been through last winter.
The horses played in the snow for a while yesterday, but their legs got cold. They are still California princesses, so they came over to the pasture gate and stood there to let me know that they were ready to go back into their cozy stalls. My biggest problem is the front corral where there’s still some water and mucho mud under the snow. We resolved to fix the drainage out there, but somehow never got around to it.
In the “you say potato, I say potaaa-toe” part of our relationship, my husband believes in clearing the snow so that the ground shows. I believe that leaving a thin layer of snow a couple of inches thick makes it less slippery for both man and horse. Since he did the shoveling, it is now treacherously icy on the paths to the barn and the pasture. I remind myself that my back is not the least bit sore and I can stand up straight, so maybe I can adjust to making my way through a slippery spot or two.
I was wondering this morning as I opened the stall doors and fed the horses whether they happier living here in New England or in California. The winters out West were severe too, with heavy rain and mud and more mud. They had shelter, but not a fully enclosed warm barn with fluffy shavings. I decided that they like it better here. Then, I realized that they would like it anywhere, as long as they were living with me, my husband and my daughter.